


glory and gore

by Over_the_Love204



Series: hunger games au [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: 75th Hunger Games, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:31:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Over_the_Love204/pseuds/Over_the_Love204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Quarter Quell has returned and with it President Snow's plans to smother the spark of rebellion in the districts.  Unfortunately, his plans to get rid of the Girl on Fire Katniss Everdeen completely go out the window when her mentor, Stephanie Salvatore, volunteers for her.</p><p>Let the Games begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	glory and gore

**Author's Note:**

> Stephanie’s dress during Caesar’s interview 
> 
> http://awkward-little-turtleduck.tumblr.com/post/72822190021/gothiccharmschool-why-hello-pretty-pretty

_“Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)_  
God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old way)  
Chance is the only game I play with, baby  
We let our battles choose us.”

_._

_._

_._

When she was reaped for the second time, she was just eighteen and had grown out of wearing her hair in pigtails.  Instead of just being a girl from the Seam, she was a social pariah who lived in Victor’s Village with an absentee father and instead of going in the arena with her older brother; she would be going in with a dear friend, instead.  Steph didn’t know what made her volunteer (Peeta and Katniss in love and wanting them to live a life together; the fact that her own life made her want to scream every time she closed her eyes) but it hadn’t been particularly thought out.  But she didn’t regret it.  Because.

Because Katniss looked so shocked, so confused that someone would take her place in the arena like she had done for her own flesh and blood just a year prior and Stephanie wanted to hug her tightly and tell her that people were looking out for her too.  Because Peeta looked so damned relieved and seemed like he would melt into the wooden stage floor.  Because Effie Trinket had stopped sobbing and started patting Katniss discreetly on the shoulder, and put her handkerchief back into one of the folds of her dress.

Effie Trinket sniffled, “And now for the men.”  Her hand plunged into the second bowl and she ruffled the only two slips in there and yanked one out.  Effie’s breath seemed to catch in her throat.  “Haymitch Abernathy.”  She paused for a moment, perhaps waiting for a volunteer, but Peeta only grasped Katniss’ hand tightly in his own.  “Welcome to the 75th Hunger Games and the 3rd Quarter Quell.”

.

.

.

The train ride was painfully awkward, mainly because no one knew what to say and everyone was trying to pretend that nothing had changed.  Katniss and Peeta were clearly very conflicted; they were happy to be able to stay out of the Games, but on the other hand, their mentors were going into a Quarter Quell and it was very likely that neither would come back.  The odds were decidedly _not_ in their favor. 

Haymitch on the outset was unaffected; he just reached for some of his favorite white liquor from District 12’s Hob.  But Stephanie’s hand shot out and smacked his wrist, making Haymitch snatch his fingers back and glare.  “The hell is wrong with you, sweetheart?”

Stephanie’s eyes met Haymitch’s.  Ignoring Katniss and Peeta’s staring, she told her friend, “You are not going into this thing drunk.  I’ve been helping you cut back for years and you aren’t wasting all of that work.”  Katniss sat back, silently impressed while Peeta smothered laughter with his fist.

Haymitch glowered and muttered obscenities under his breath, but Steph made out, “– things I do for you –” and she smiled a tiny half smile, pleased.

“Thank you,” She said.

“Yeah, yeah, you little brat.”  Haymitch snorted and eyed the white liquor longingly.

“So what’s your strategy?” Katniss sat a little taller in her chair and her intense eyes locked down onto Haymitch’s.

The older man rolled his.  “Getting there.  You see, sweetheart, everyone’s going to be mad,” He explained.  “We all thought we were done.”  He shrugged stiffly.  “I can name more than a few people who will be trying to get the Games repealed.  It won’t happen, of course, but they’ll try to.”

“But what are _you_ going to do?” Katniss repeated.  She was insistent.  “If you know they won’t stop the Games, you won’t waste your time trying, will you?”

“What do you _think_ we’re going to do?” Haymitch retorted.  He rubbed his eyes with hands that should have been calloused, but were smoothed because of the Capitol’s need for perfection.   “We’re going to try and survive.  That’s all we _can_ do.”

“By yourselves?” Peeta wondered.  He scratched the nape of his neck.  “I mean . . . can you make it alone?  We had help and we barely made it out . . .”

“We’ll have to make alliances,” Haymitch admitted.  “Every one of these guys is dangerous.  They’re trained killers.”

“But so are we,” Stephanie said firmly.  She felt older than eighteen.  Katniss side-eyed her, assessing, and seemed to like what she saw because there was tiny head nod directed towards Steph after.   

“But they’re your friends.”  Peeta’s brows furrowed.  “Right?”

“Yeah, kid, they’re our friends,” Haymitch said gruffly and Peeta nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry,” He said quietly and patted Haymitch’s shoulder with all of the gentleness in the world.  It made Stephanie’s turn up into a small smile.

“I think we should watch the other reaping tapes,” Katniss announced abruptly, perhaps trying to get them to think about other things, “like we did last year.  You can decide who you want to ally with.”  Haymitch paused and gave the white liquor one last, longing look, but got to his feet without taking the bottle.  He clapped a hand onto Peeta’s back, and together they left the compartment.  Katniss rose to follow, but Stephanie made her pause with a gentle grip on her wrist.

“I think you’re going to be a good mentor,” Stephanie told her.  They were very close in age, but it was so odd to think that Katniss had just won her Games, while Steph had won hers nearly six years ago.  The role reversal was startling too; this time last year, Stephanie had been mentoring her.

Katniss looked surprised.  “Thank you.  And not just for that.”  She looked a little awkward, but she staunchly pushed on.  “Thank you for volunteering for me.”

Stephanie pulled the other girl into a hug, and while Katniss was stiff, she didn’t resist.  “You’re welcome.”

They went to find Peeta and Haymitch together, and settled in the couches to watch the other reapings with Haymitch’s and Stephanie’s added commentary.  They quickly realized as a unit that Steph didn’t know nearly as much about the other victors as Haymitch did for varying reasons.  One of those was obvious; Haymitch was older and had had time to forge more friendships.  Another was less so; once social and outgoing, Stephanie’s personality had been warped so after her Games like all the victors’ were, and she just didn’t relate to people the same way anymore.  She either had her façade on (some damon, some katherine and a sprinkling of caroline’s cheer) or she was hiding from the world, ashamed of the person she’d become (murderer, liar, whore).

District 1 that year had the siblings, Cashmere and Gloss.   District 2, Brutus and the fierce Enobaria.

“What’s with her teeth?” Peeta squinted at the screen, clearly unsure whether or not to believe his eyes.  But Stephanie could testify herself that Enobaria truly had pointy, lethally dangerous teeth.

“She filed them down to make it look like she had fangs,” Steph explained.  “I met her once.”  More like saw her, but same difference those days.

“Why?” Katniss scrunched up her nose.

“Because she tore out a tribute’s neck with her teeth during her Games,” Haymitch elaborated dryly.  “The Capitol loved it.”  He pointed.  “She’s not to be messed with or taken lightly.  She’d sooner tear out our throats than have an alliance unless we prove to her that we’re worth it.”

District 3 had Beetee and Wiress and Steph was painfully reminded of sweet Caroline.  She’d have been nineteen and likely have had a career in some kind of organizing committee.  She wouldn’t have cared that she would have been one of the richest women around; she’d have continued doing what she loved.  But Stephanie also knew that she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle President Snow’s delicate handling of his beautiful victors and that she probably would have refused to comply.  (Damon probably would have been able to, Steph knew, but that was just one of the reasons that he should have won instead of her).

District 4 provided Finnick Odair, who Stephanie empathized with, and the allegedly ‘mad’ Annie Cresta.  But Mags, dear Mags, volunteered for her.

“He’s modest,” Katniss said derisively as Finnick strode around confident with easy smiles and pretty sweaters.

“Really, he is,” Haymitch deadpanned and he stood to stand behind the couch.  He braced his hands on the back of it and leaned forward.

“What?” Peeta asked and his blond brows arched incredulously. 

“I’m kidding.”  Haymitch threw his arms up.  “He’s a freaking peacock.  He’s also dangerous – he won his Games with a trident that his sponsors sent him.  He never wanted for anything, they loved him so much.”

“He’s got to have some weakness.  What about Mags?  She’ll weigh him down,” Katniss assessed with a critical eye.

“Yeah, well, I hope she makes it,” Haymitch grumbled, “because she’s actually a real nice lady.”  Katniss quieted.  Five had forgettable tributes, who even Haymitch dismissed and in Six the morphling addicts were reaped.  Seven was when they had a bit more competition.  “Johanna Mason.  She’s good.  And volatile.  Blight’s not much of a threat, but I wouldn’t turn my back on the guy.”  Eight gave up Cecelia and Woof, and Nine and Ten’s tributes were elderly.  Eleven had Haymitch quieting, for it was his good friends Chaff and Seeder going in.  Then they showed District 12’s reaping.

They – Katniss, Peeta, Steph and Haymitch – looked expressionless and unwavering on screen.  The only one on stage that was physically melting down was a trembling Effie Trinket.  She stuffed her pale fingers in the bowl for the ladies and –

The screen cut off and Steph turned to see Peeta with the control in his hand.  “I don’t think we need to see any more of that again.”  She wondered how someone so sweet had survived the Games and kept that part of himself.

.

.

.

When they reached the Capitol, Stephane found out that Isobel was no longer her stylist; she’d indeed moved up to bigger and more prominent districts as she’d desired during the 69th Hunger Games.  Instead, she found that she’d inherited Cinna while Haymitch got Peeta’s stylist, Portia.  It only took a few minutes of being in his company for Stephanie to figure out why Katniss called this kind man a friend.

“Now, I’ve been designing some things, and I figured we’d keep the Girl on Fire theme this year, Stephanie.  Is that okay with you?  If it makes you too uncomfortable, we’ll figure something else out.”  He’d been genuine, but Stephanie saw the uncertainty in his eyes.  So she’d said it was fine, even though the Girl on Fire was Katniss’ brand and she felt like a thief for using it.  

Cinna asked her opinion about near everything concerning around her outfits, but also about politics and her hobbies.

“I journal,” She’d told him quietly.

“That’s nice.”  He’d grinned.  “Very therapeutic.”  Now, he was suiting her up in some bulky outfit that he promised would make her shine.  “When you’re ready, press this.”  He indicated a small button on the inside of her wrist.

“Thanks,” Steph nodded and accepted the direction.  When she found her chariot, Haymitch was already there and wearing a suit that was nearly identical to Steph’s.  He looked just as uncomfortable as well, unsure how to carry his weight inside the elaborate costume.

“There you are, sweetheart.  We’re getting ready to go.”  He clapped her on the back. 

“Cinna went all out.”  Stephanie said.  She licked her lips.  “He wanted to keep up the fire theme.”

Haymitch’s eyes flashed and he spoke like he was censoring his words.  “It’s popular.” 

“But it’s Katniss’.”

“It’s District 12’s,” Haymitch corrected her.  “Now, let’s get on that chariot and show them that District 12 is still on fire.”  He offered her a hand.  Stephanie smiled.

.

.

.

It turned out that their costumes literally went up into flames, which they really should have expected.  They were, by some miracle, unburned, but Stephanie thought she was lucky she hadn’t had a heart attack in the process.  She appreciated the time they had to mingle with the other victors because she needed a moment to process the fact she hadn’t been killed by a thirty pound designer outfit.

She was patting her chariot’s horse gently on its nose, murmuring to it when Finnick Odair paid her a visit.  Haymitch was several feet away, talking with Seeder and Chaff, and so she was unable to beg off and use him as a distraction.  Finnick was all easy smiles with sweet dimples, but his voice was a seductive purr as he talked to Steph.  “Well, if it isn’t the _Rippe_ r.  You know, your district has a bit of a thing for fancy labels.”

“I’ve noticed,” Stephanie assured him dryly.  She knew it could have been worse, however, if Isobel had still been her stylist.  She’d wanted to go all out in her first Games, but she’d somehow restrained herself.  However, now that Stephanie was of age, Steph was sure that Isobel would have played off the Ripper title and trussed her up in fake blood or something and somehow related it back to District 12. 

“Nice getup, by the way.” He nodded towards her heavy suit.

“Same.”  Stephanie made a vague motion toward Finnick’s net.  “It reminds me of Damon’s in our Games.”  Stephanie mentally tripped over his name.  She’d seldom said it aloud, but forced herself to not stutter.  “Very . . . revealing.”

“Gotta show off the assets,” Finnick told her in a cheery, Capitol accented voice.

“For the clients?” Stephanie retreated a little inside of the Ripper, letting a little of Katherine come to mind as she side-eyed the older man. 

Finnick’s face grew grave and he dropped the Capitol voice.  “You too?” He asked under his breath, as if their very conversation was being recorded and sent back to Snow.  Maybe it was.  Steph didn’t put it past the president.

Katherine fell away and Stephanie raised her chin.  “Me too.”

“I knew it when I first saw you during your Victory Tour,” He confessed quietly.  “I wanted to warn you.”

“Damon would have handled it better,” Stephanie admitted as she turned to face the horse.  She rubbed its neck again and asked Finnick, “Sugar cube?”

He handed her one and titled his head, assessing her.  “Maybe,” Finnick hummed. 

“Maybe what?” Stephanie asked as he fed the horse the cube.  It nickered and snuffled her hand, warming her insides.

“Maybe he would have handled it better,” Finnick said decisively.  “He seemed the kind to live fast and love hard.  I think it would have changed him more than you would like to think it would have.”

Stephanie stiffened.  “I’ve changed.”

“Not as much as you think you have,” Finnick disagreed.  He took a step back and his plastic smile returned.  “I’m afraid I have to go.  I’ve got a date tonight.”

Steph tasted bile, but forced it back and gave him a fake smile.  Finnick waved and disappeared, his bronze skin shining in the phony Capitol lights.  Stephanie turned away from her horse and went to find Haymitch and maybe get some answers out of him.

.

.

.

The Training Center, Stephanie found, had been completely renovated to accommodate the 75th Hunger Games and had been outfitted to each of the victors’ personal weapons of choice, along with the basic survival stations that included rope tying, fire starting, and plant identifying.  Less than half of the victors went to the intended-to-be-mandatory training sessions.  Stephanie made sure she and Haymitch were there.

Having been unable to get him alone enough to question the man before their training sessions, Stephanie was relieved for the time available to them.  However, even though she now had the time to talk, she found that Haymitch was being reticent.  It was like he knew there was something she wanted to discuss – and he probably did – and so he avoided her and worked with Chaff and Seeder on brushing up his skills.

“Problems?” Finnick purred into her ear as Stephanie halfheartedly glared at Haymitch across the room.

“None,” Stephanie said and smiled tightly.  She turned and looked upwards to meet Finnick’s eyes.  “Would you mind showing me how to throw a trident?”

Finnick beamed down at her, his teeth pearly white against his deeply tanned skin.  “I would love to.”  He playfully offered her his elbow, which Steph took, and they walked over to the trident and spear tossing station.  They worked there diligently, but several times Steph was reminded Damon wielding the spear a bit like Finnick was wielding his trident.  There were moments when she had to catch herself from saying _his_ name instead of Finnick’s.

Trident throwing required a lot of arm strength, which Finnick had aplenty, but Stephanie was a little lacking.  She managed after a while, however, to throw it a short distance, and Finnick also taught her a few fun tricks.

“I’d say try not to poke an eye out, but you’ll probably want to in the arena,” Finnick teased.  She only hummed in response.  She caught sight of Haymitch across the room, unoccupied for the first time.  Steph decided to seize her chance.

“I need to talk to Haymitch,” She told Finnick.  “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye Steph,” He said with a little wave, and he departed to find Mags, no doubt, who was at the fishhooks station.  Steph made a note to stop by and learn some of the older woman’s skills. 

“Haymitch,” Stephanie said firmly and the man sighed, shoulders sagging.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“We need to talk, please.”

Haymitch’s eyes darted up to the Gamemakers, who were shielded by a force field that year.  Steph would have to mention it to Katniss; the younger girl would probably get a kick out of the fact they were now afraid of future sessions like the archer’s.  Finally, Haymitch leaned forward and said into Stephanie’s ear, “We’re going to meet outside the Training Center tonight to talk; less opportunity for Snow to hear.  Don’t ask questions.”  He stepped back.

Stephanie tasted something bitter in her mouth.  “I have a . . . client this evening.”

Haymitch’s balled his hands and gave a tight lipped smile.  “Then we’ll find some other time to talk sweetheart.  Don’t worry.”  He grasped her shoulder in reassurance and then stepped away.  Stephanie watched him go and then turned her attention to the fishhook station.  She’d see Mags about learning some new skills.

.

.

.

That afternoon, she asked Katniss to teach her how to use a bow and arrow.

.

.

.

In the evening, Stephanie took a cab to her mysterious client’s hotel room.  Whoever it was had been very discreet sending an avox to her with a note during her breakfast.  They didn’t have any dress requirements except for a suit and tie equivalent, so Steph had worn a modest dress that fell mid calve.  She paid her cabbie ahead of time, and patiently waited to arrive at her destination.  She constructed her walls while she waited, so used to this that it was easily done. 

“Here we go, Ma’am,” The cabbie said.  “Have a nice evening.” 

“Thanks,” Stephanie said and stepped out of the cab and walked into the ritzy hotel.  Her patron was already waiting in his room and she fingered the card key the avox had given her along with the note.  The elevator ride was silent and lonely.  The halls were quiet as she ghosted through them, the only sound being the subdued click of her heels on the carpet.

She found the room and opened it.

Inside was the smell of roses and blood, and President Snow sat in the armchair in the corner of the lavish room that was the size of a suite.  He smiled at her and Stephanie controlled her desire to simultaneously shudder and sneer.  “Miss . . . Salvatore.  Have a seat.”  He flourished his hand at the chair next to his and she had no choice but to do so.  She complied silently, smoothing down her dress over her knees.

“President Snow,” She murmured.  Her green eyes flashed with unvoiced, ice cold anger, which was at odds with her demure tone of voice.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” He asked her idly.  He did not look angry, but rather . . . perplexed.  He tapped his stubby pale fingers on the side table next to his lounge chair and glanced at her with his beady, intent eyes.

“I was unaware of any actions I’ve taken that are against the law.”  Steph worded her sentences very carefully; she knew the game Snow was playing.

“You’re correct; you haven’t broken the law.”  Snow nodded as if he was agreeing with her, but there something . . . his voice turned taut.  “But you have interfered with something you had no business involving yourself in.”

“And what is that?” But she knew, of course; there was only one thing it could have been.

“The reaping of Katniss Everdeen, of course,” Sow said and a creeping smile curled his pink lips.  “You were never supposed to volunteer, my dear.  Whatever possessed you to do so?”

Stephanie did not let any trace of her thoughts cross her face.  Snow was particularly interested Katniss because of her move to defy the Games the previous year with the berries, but also because her actions were seen as an act of rebellion by the other districts.  He wanted to stomp that out, and what better way than to have Katniss killed in the Quarter Quell?  Snow figured that whatever rebellion in the districts would die with Katniss.  Stephanie had messed up his plans then. 

Well, she wasn’t called the Ripper for nothing.  Steph flipped back her hair and leant forward in her chair.  She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and stared at Snow in the eye.  Her lips curled.  “I volunteered for my friend.  I would do anything to spare someone else the pain of going back into that arena, even if I have to go in their place.  I only wish that I could somehow spare Haymitch too.”

Snow rubbed his chin.  “You’ve put me in a very awkward position, Miss Salvatore.  I hope you realize there will be consequences.”

“What I realize is that you had some sick plan that involved Katniss, and I accidentally thwarted it.” Stephanie leant back again and cross her legs.  “Is that all you wanted?  To give me a slap on the wrist for not knowing about your political agenda?  Because it wasn’t intentional.  Although . . .” Stephanie arched one brow significantly, “I think I would have done the same thing if I had known.”

Snow tilted his head back and laughed.  Stephanie found herself surprised and more than a little bit concerned.  “Miss Salvatore, you are such delightful company,” Snow told her frankly.  He took off his white rose on his lapel, fingering it in his hands as he leant forward.  Steph sat perfectly still except to raise her chin defiantly, and he tucked the flower into her hair.  His fingers lingered on her pale, soft cheeks that would no doubt begin to hollow again after she was in the arena.  Snow withdrew his hand and released her dark hair from behind her ear and it formed a curtain around her face. 

“And so beautiful . . .” He almost leered, but then sighed heavily.  “Unfortunately, you must be punished for your actions and blatant talk of treason.”

Stephanie tasted something vile in the back of her mouth.   The president’s words loosened her tongue.  She almost couldn’t believe herself – and would blame Damon’s lasting influence – as she opened her mouth and spoke, “What else can you do to me?  My brother is dead.  My father acts like I’m gone.  My only friends are on your hit list or are going into the arena.  You whore me out for your own political gain.  What more do you want with me?  What more do I even have to give?”

Snow gave her a look that sent a shiver down her spine.  “We’re going to start your punishment tonight, Miss Salvatore, right now.”  Stephanie pressed her lips into a thin line and Snow continued, “You’re going to service me like you would any other client.”

Stephanie almost choked, but Snow just kept on.  “If you don’t, you will find that your father will no longer act like you’re not there; instead, someone will discover him dead in a ditch because of a heart attack.  If that is not enough incentive, I will make sure that Peeta and Katniss never get their happy ending.  There are so many mining incidents you know, and if Katniss were ever to visit her delightful cousin Gale while he worked . . .” He trailed off.  “And of course, Mr. Abernathy will find himself in some very unfortunate circumstances in the arena if you do not comply.”  Snow smiled cheerily.  “Now then, Miss Salvatore, I say get down on your knees.”

Stephanie stared him down and willed Katherine to the surface.  Katherine could handle this.  Katherine would do it because she was a survivor.  Caroline would be too scared to function and Damon would mouth off, but ultimately do whatever he had to protect the people who needed protection. 

Stephanie stood from her chair and slowly slid down to the floor.  Snow smiled.  “That’s a good girl.  Now I need you to place your hand . . . right . . . here, to begin.”  He guided her hand to his zipper. 

.

.

.

Stephanie found her way home in the morning and slipped into bed.  She did not get up for breakfast or when Katniss stopped by to inquire about more archery lessons, or when Peeta asked if she wanted some of his pastries that he’d baked.  She felt detached.  It wasn’t like the previous night was unusual – it was actually tame in some respect, when compared to her other, more adventurous clients – but it felt different when it wasn’t with some Capitol airhead.  The President had done that – he was behind her every client, but he’d never been _the one_ physically there.  Her Capitol clients had always seemed a bit like children, like they didn’t realize what they were doing was wrong; Snow had known and reveled in her revulsion.  And she’d never felt so violated since her first time on the day of her birthday.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Haymitch called.  Stephanie looked up to see the older victor leaning against the door jam.  His curly head was angled so that it leant on the wall.  “We missed you at breakfast.  And lunch.  And during training.  I mean, I rely on you to be those places, because I need you to keep me on track.”  His voice was almost teasing.

“Sorry I wasn’t available to be your babysitter today.”  Stephanie thought about what Finnick had said, about knowing how she’d join the likes of him and Cashmere as being one of the Capitol’s little dolls and playthings.  How he’d wanted to warn her.  Had Haymitch known this would happen to her?  Had it happened to _him_?

She sat up and stared at her once mentor.  “Did you know about what Snow does to the pretty ones?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Haymitch rubbed his eyes.

Stephanie’s gaze bored into those eyes.  “Do you know what Snow does to me?  To Finnick and Cashmere and who knows who else?”

Haymitch’s eyes shuttered.  “Yes.”

“And you chose to say nothing.”

“Yes.”

She felt betrayed.  “Why?” 

Haymitch rubbed his face again and stepped further into her room, gently closing the door behind him.  It shut with a soft click.  “I didn’t want you to worry about it before it happened,” He said gruffly.  “Then I started to hope it would never happen to you.  Guess I was wrong.  I – I knew last night when you said client.”

“I would have appreciated the warning,” Stephanie said.

“How long?” 

“Since Katniss and Peeta’s Victory Tour,” Stephanie admitted.  “But last night it wasn’t a regular client.  President Snow paid me a special visit.”

Haymitch sat on the edge of her bed after Steph made room for him.  He clenched his fists, hands curling over an invisible bottle of his favorite from the Hob.  “What did he want?” He asked quietly.

“To punish me for screwing up his plans for Katniss to go back into the arena, hopefully with Peeta,” Stephanie explained.  She clenched her bedcovers in her hands.  “He wanted her to die so that whatever’s happening in the districts would fall away.”

“But it’s not going to fall away,” Haymitch said, but his lips barely moved and his voice sounded like a whisper.  Stephanie sat up straight, curiosity making her forget some of her previous angst.

“What?” She asked sharply.  “Tell me what you’ve been hiding.  We don’t do secrets, Haymitch.  Not with each other.”  Stephanie pressed her lips into a thin line.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Haymitch promised, his voice sincere, “just as soon as we get into the arena.  Just . . . just play the Girl on Fire until then.” 

“Katniss is the Girl on Fire,” Stephanie said flatly.  “I’m the Ripper, Haymitch.  How am I supposed to be both?”

“You’ll figure it out.”  Haymitch slowly got to his feet and strode out of her bedroom.  Stephanie frowned and stood.  The pity party was over, she told herself.  Then she went to find Katniss in hope for more archery lessons.

.

.

.

Waiting for her private session with the Gamemakers was nerve wracking.  Undoubtedly, Katniss would have done something outrageous and wowed them all, and Peeta would likely have done something just as remarkable.  They probably would have made history again.

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do that year.  The line was dwindling in front of her though, so Stephanie knew she had better figure it out.

.

.

.

When she walked into the room, the Gamemakers were up on their pedestal behind the force field.  Standing front and center was Plutarch Heavensbee.  His gaze settled comfortably on her and his upturned lips on his smug face seemed to say, _“Impress me.”_

So she did. 

(and chopped up the bodies of the dummies with sharp and precise movements that wiped the smirk off of Heavenbee’s face and then put them back together like a jigsaw puzzle)

(She got a nine)

.

.

.

Haymitch must have talked the Gamemakers around in circles of confusion because there was no other way he’d have made an eight without his sharp, acidic wit.

.

.

.

Before they knew it, the interviews were upon them, and every single tribute had some card up their sleeve to voice their displeasure about the 75th Annual Hunger Games.  Haymitch had been right, of course, that they would try to repeal the Quell or change the rules by any means necessary.  They didn’t want to go back in and suffer again, making their previous trials and triumphs for nothing.   

They were dressed extravagantly for their interviews with Caeser Flickerman, and Haymitch was true to his word in that Stephanie would be playing the Girl on Fire in Katniss’ stead.  Cinna had an extravagant dress for her; it had a high, red neckline that sparkled with silver specks and the red trailed down the shoulders and towards the bodice the red was becoming sparse as black took its place.  It had long sleeves that fluttered around her wrists and seemed to be made of some kind of lace.  The bodice down was black and ruffled with the sparkly bits.  It was beautiful.

“What kind of material did you use for this?”  Stephanie arched one precisely groomed brow.  “Lead?”  It was reminiscent of the heavy outfit she’d worn to the Opening Ceremony.

Cinna grinned at her, his white teeth a blinding white against his dark skin.  “It’s a trade secret.  Remember to twirl at the end, okay?  There’s a bit of a surprise for you and the crowd.  You’ll go out with a bang.”  He winked.

Stephanie eyed her stylist carefully.  He was in on whatever Haymitch was on about, she was almost positive.  But she wouldn’t find out what until they reached the arena, which was frustrating and a little bit infuriating.  “Okay.”

“Break a leg,” Cinna told her seriously.  “And knock ‘em all dead.”

“Thank you, Cinna,” Stephanie said and she stepped forward to grasp her stylist’s wrist.  She squeezed lightly.  “Thank you for everything.”  His face softened and he pulled her into a quick hug.  He was warm and the dress constricting, but it was nice.  Steph pulled back and gave him a small smile before heading out.

She met Haymitch in their place in line, behind all of the other tributes.  The crowd was loud and the lights were blinding.  There was background music from the show reverberating throughout the enormous studio, which made it difficult to hear.   Stephanie had to raise her voice to make sure she was heard.  “Where are Katniss and Peeta?”

“In the front row,” Haymitch said and pointed.  He looked nice in a white suit, and even like he’d trimmed down some since being in the Capitol – if that was at possible with their extravagant amounts of food – and he was clean shaven, with his hair still floppy.  Katniss and Peeta were in nice outfits as well, but nothing as outrageous as the tributes’; Katniss was in a relatively tame, blood red dress that still wowed Stephanie, and Peeta was looking lean and handsome in a soft white suit.  They caught her looking and waved.

The first guest on Caesar’s show was One’s Cashmere, who was welcomed to the stage with bellowing cheers.  Her three minute interview consisted of a tearful speech about she had been falling to pieces worrying and crying whenever she thought of the Capitol’s suffering at the loss of their favorite victors.  Her brother Gloss continued on that same pity line when he spoke of how much the Capitol had given him and his sister, and the wonderful kindness shown to them.  Haymitch mimed vomiting, which made Stephanie grin.

Enobaria and Brutus were the opposite; they were perhaps the only victors eager to return to the arena.  Brutus wanted to show the Capitol that he wouldn’t disappoint them and want the chance to prove his continued prowess.  Enobaria pretended to bite into Caesar’s neck to the crowd’s obvious delight.  There was a moment that Stephanie could have sworn that Enobaria looked like she was contemplating ripping out the host’s throat, making the younger girl quickly review her mental assessment of the woman.

Wiress was nervous and twitchy, but eventually she managed to talk about all of the work she and Beetee were doing in Three and how it was a bit of a waste to throw their lives away for mere entertainment value.  Beetee stood up on the stage and debated with Caesar about the legality of the 2nd Quarter Quell, demanding that someone should read over the rules and guidelines again because what they were doing certainly didn’t sound legal.  (He was ushered off the stage as quickly as possible when his three minutes were up.)

Finnick said a poem to his one true love, which made Stephanie pause.  He’d managed to find love despite the years of Snow’s blackmail, and she wondered _how_ ; she’d only gone through barely a year of the same and she was ready to scratch out Snow’s eyes, and she certainly didn’t think she’d be able to have a stable relationship with someone romantically.  Mags was delightful, but only a very small handful of people were able to understand her, due to the stroke she’d had a few years past.  Haymitch translated a bit for Stephanie.

District 5’s elderly tributes talked about before the Hunger Games, but their microphones went out only after a minute or two.  “How unfortunate,” Haymitch muttered to Stephanie darkly.  “Damn Snow.”  Six’s morphlings were so high they could barely articulate their own names. 

Then Johanna Mason went up onto stage and her mouth was pressed into a thin, angry line.  She took the time to let the country know her exact thoughts on Snow’s idea to reap victors.  “We were supposed to be through with this bullshit!  That was the deal; we win our Games and then we’re free!  Well, you can all go fuck yourselves!  Fuck these Games!  And fuck you, Snow!”  She’d angrily stormed off stage in her dress that greatly resembled a tree – as per usual with her district – and passed Steph and Haymitch on her way out. 

“I don’t think that’s going to help our case, sweetheart,” Haymitch drawled.

Johanna didn’t care and her lip curled into an angry snarl.  “At least they know how I really feel about them.”  She flung out a finger towards a lingering camera and then stalked off, ripping pieces of her headdress off along the way.

Districts 8 through 10 talked about their families and how they’d miss them, and they wondered how on earth the Capitol could be so cruel as to tear them away from their loved ones so prematurely.  From District 11, Seeder was quite clever; she said that everyone from her district assumed Snow was all powerful, so he of course he could repeal the Games if he wanted to.  Chaff was right on her heels, following up with the fact that it was Snow’s fault – he could change the Quell, but he’d chosen not to, because clearly no one thought it mattered.

And then it was District 12’s turn. 

“Show them that you’re not to be messed with, kid,” Haymitch whispered.  “Show them the Ripper – show them that _all_ the girls from Twelve are on fire.”

“Just as long as you don’t give them the impression that Twelve’s boys are all drunkards,” Stephanie said drily and she danced away from Haymitch’s head reaching out to swat her in the back of the head.  She paused just before she reached the stage and reached inside of herself for her Capitol façade, her mask that kept her sane.  She took a breath and strode out to meet Caesar.

“Miss Stephanie Salvatore!  It’s been a while!” The host crowed.  His grin was plastic and his teeth looked like marble fakes.  “Everybody, let’s welcome our favorite, the Ripper!  My, oh my, but have you grown!”  He leered a little, and though she hated it, she smirked at him.  Katherine would smirk.  So would Damon.  Caroline would smile and giggle.  (Stephanie didn’t really rely on Caroline unless she needed to charm people or organize something.)

“Well, that’s to be expected, Caesar,” Stephanie said shyly, “seeing as I was thirteen the last time you saw me.”

“And now you’re all grown up,” Caesar said and wiped away a tear escaping his eye.  “Well, this has been an emotional roller coaster for all of us.”  He turned to the crowd.  “Do you agree?”  They roared in answer, some of them furious, some of the crying.  “Have a seat, have a seat.”  He motioned toward the chair across from Stephanie, which she took.  “First thing’s first; your dress is gorgeous!”  It was indeed, beautiful.

Caesar beamed.  “I have to say, Stephanie, you look so like your late brother.”  He motioned towards the screens.  “Let’s see a comparison, shall we?”  The large screens flickered from the stage and showed two pictures side-by-side.  On the left was a freeze frame of Stephanie in that moment and the other was of Damon from his own interview right before their Games.  The resemblance was indeed remarkable; same pale face, dark wavy hair, pretty red lips, and penetrating eyes.  Hers were the green of an oak leaf though, and Damon’s the icy blue of winter.  Stephanie was mesmerized by her brother’s image.  He was so young, so alive . . .  “My, oh my, but you both are such darlings.  It’s really too bad . . .”

Stephanie blinked and tore her gaze away from the picture abruptly at Caesar’s half spoken condolences.  Her blood boiled.  What right did Caesar have to talk about Damon Salvatore?  Stephanie felt the heat in her blood rise to her face Caesar’s paled.  “It’s too bad, what, Caesar?” Stephanie asked coolly.  She sat back and folded her right leg over her left and looked like she didn’t have a care in the world.

“It’s just . . . too bad that your brother was taken from this world so early.”  Caesar tried to take a diplomatic approach, but he winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  The crowd was shifting uneasily in their seats.

“Whose fault is that?” Stephanie wondered as her brows furrowed in mock curiosity.   “Because is sure as hell wasn’t his.”

“It was no one’s fault.” Caesar was rapidly trying to regain control of the interview.  He raised his hands to placate her.

“It could have been Katherine’s . . .” Steph mused and tapped her bottom lip with one fingernail that was painted blood red, as if an omen.  It matched Katniss’ dress.  “If it was, she got what she deserved when I hacked off her head.  There was so much blood, it was just everywhere.”  She leant forward as if sharing a secret.  “Decapitating someone is a lot harder than it looks – also, really messy.  Although, since now I’m _all grown up_ , I’m sure it’ll be much easier.  Or it would have been if I hadn’t had to do it to people that survived their Games by becoming murderers, just like me.”

The crowd became dead silent.  “Thank you for your time, Caesar.”  Stephanie stood.  She caught Katniss’ wide eyes in the crowd.  Then she twirled in her dress and flames raced up its ruffles.  When Stephanie came to a pause with her arms outspread, she caught sight of herself in the big screens; she was a Mockingjay.  The audience’s silence broke and the people rose to their feet and thunderously clapped and shouted, in utter awe of her dress.

When she passed Haymitch as she strode off stage, he gave her a look that said he was half impressed, half horrified.  “You said to let them know that girls from Twelve burn.”  She said.  “And you also told me to be the Ripper.  So I did.”  Johanna gave her a thumb’s up and a smirk. 

“Well, that was . . . that was something,” Caesar said as he tried to recover.  His face was paler than a sheet and his hands were shaking minutely.  He twirled one of his fingers and a light jumped on at the edge of the stage.  “Let’s welcome Haymitch Abernathy to the stage.”  Haymitch strode into the spotlight and it followed him to Caesar’s side.  He shook his hand politely, and then he slouched in the chair proffered to him.  Caesar sat across from the victor and looked incredibly wary of the forty year old man in front of him.  “Mr. Abernathy, how are you feeling this evening?”

“A little betrayed,” Haymitch said smoothly.  He waved a hand at the crowd.  “I could cuss the Capitol out like Johanna did, or try and bribe you with my fake tears, or even rip into you like my partner did.  But I think that would be pointless, don’t you?”  The crowd murmured to themselves, having settled a bit from Stephanie’s interview, but refused to return to silence.

Caesar looked so relieved that Haymitch wasn’t going to rile them up again that he could have cried.  “I seem to remember asking you in the last Quarter Quell what you thought about facing off with twice the number of tributes, and you told me that it _‘didn’t make much of a difference because they’d all still be just as stupid.’_ ”

The crowd laughed and Haymitch rolled his neck lazily.  “I did,” He admitted.  He put his hands behind his head and slouched further into the chair to make himself appear as comfortable as possible.

“Well, now that you’re in your Quarter Quell,” Caesar started, looking far more cheered because of Haymitch’s apparent laid-back attitude, “what do you think of the stakes this time?”  He looked at Haymitch with eager eyes.

Haymitch yawned like the interview and the entire debacle of the Games was beneath him, and the audience snickered.  “I mean, they’re all a little bit smarter than the kids I went up against last time.”  The crowd loved Haymitch’s humor after most of the other victors’ plights; they continued to laugh and were clearly set at ease.  However, around Stephanie, the other tributes weren’t as amused as the Capitol was.

“He should be a little fucking angry, don’t you think?” Johanna had made her way over to Stephanie’s spot sometime during the interview.  Her tree outfit was hindering her range of motion, and it was clear that she was fighting the urge to rip the rest of the thing off of her body. 

Stephanie was surprised that Johanna had come over to talk at all, though; they hadn’t talked much before – if ever.  But apparently she’d admired Stephanie’s rage and urged all the other tributes to contribute their own.  “I mean, this is his second Quarter Quell.  He should be pissed that he has to go through two of those.  Don’t get me wrong, all of our Games were total shit, but the Quell is in its own league, you know?”  Johanna jerked her head in Haymitch’s direction as if Steph needed reminding who they were talking about.

 “I think Haymitch has something up his sleeve,” Stephanie admitted and Johanna perked up eagerly, eyes rounding with curiosity.

“Oh?”

Stephanie nodded, suddenly sure that Haymitch was plotting.  The man hadn’t won his past Games for nothing; the guy was intelligent and actually a little dangerous when he wasn’t drunk out of his mind or in withdrawal.  Maybe he’d come up with something good.  (She just wished that he’d shared with her.)

“Well, Haymitch,” Caesar said with a grin, “your time is almost up.”  The Capitol groaned as a collective.  “Any last minute comments to add?”  He’d grown secure in his role as host again, and was eager to get something juicy from the last interviewee.  Haymitch nodded slowly and Caesar looked a little surprised, but he grinned encouragingly.  “Well?”

“I know I’ve been nonchalant about this whole thing,” Haymitch started, “but really, it’s damned shame that this is how the Quarter Quell had to go.”

“It is,” Caesar agreed quickly.  “We’re all very sorry.”  His lips were thinning as he became increasingly wary about the direction of Haymitch’s last minute on stage was heading.

“And I almost don’t want to say this, because she’ll probably be furious with me.”  Haymitch leaned forward and elbows on his knees, put his fingers in a church steeple.  “But really, it ought to be known, I think.” 

Caesar was clearly interested despite himself and the crowd was on the edge of their seats, whispering.  “What is it?”

Haymitch seemed to go off track a little, confusing the victors and undoubtedly, the Capitol as well.  “You know we’re all very close to our fellow victors, Caesar.  And we only get to see the ones outside of our district maybe once or twice a year if we’re not called to the Capitol.  It gets lonely, especially when there’s really no one else in our districts that understand our . . . suffering.”

Caesar nodded sympathetically and the crowd was drawn in, riveted.  Stephanie felt herself swallow thickly and a shadow of anxiety fell over her.  Haymitch was about to do something stupid, she just knew it.  He and Damon were similar like that.  Next to her, Johanna hummed.

“So we go to each other and find . . . comfort,” Haymitch explained slowly, drawing it out.  Johanna rolled her eyes and flopped back dramatically into her chair.

“Can he just get on with it?” Johanna demanded and Chaff shushed her.  She bared her teeth in response, but the man from Eleven only turned his attention back to the interview, unbothered with her attitude.  “I mean, come on, I’m gonna be dead before we even reach the arena at this rate.  What is he even getting to?  I mean, it can’t be what I think it is because the other victors in Twelve are all half his age.” 

Chaff shushed her again.

“Yes, I imagine so,” Caesar nodded his head and he gazed at Haymitch with consideration.    

“Well, sometimes it’s physical comfort,” Haymitch continued to draw out.  “Stephanie and I are good friends, you know, and I hate to come across as another set of star-crossed lovers, because we’re not.  We’re friends with a side beneficial relationship.”  Finally, he got to the point and the entire crowd gasped and tittered.  Hushed whispers exploded everywhere; Stephanie felt the eye of the Capitol on her and Haymitch as every single camera in Caesar’s place directed its attention to the two tributes from Twelve. 

“I don’t think Haymitch’s lover’s thing is going to work a second time,” Johanna said wryly, not taken in at all.  Sometime during the big ‘reveal,’ Stephanie’s jaw had fallen open.

“He’s like my father.”  Stephanie finally found her voice.  “He’s like my surrogate _father_.”

“Daddy kink?” Johanna wiggled her brows and she shot Steph a sly grin.

“I’m going to kill you first,” Stephanie promised, barely whispering. 

Their attention was brought back to Haymitch’s interview when the elder victor continued spinning his – wild – tall tale.  “And I wouldn’t be telling you this if it weren’t for the baby.”  In the crowd, Katniss’ eyes bugged out and Peeta’s hand was clapped to his mouth.  “We didn’t even find out until after she volunteered for Katniss.  And I’m sure that she still would have volunteered because that girl is like a sister to her, a sort of surrogate for Damon, if you will.  She’d risk her life – and is, in fact.” 

Haymitch sat back and the crowd went absolutely nuts, screaming and shouting their outrage for the Games and the Quell.  They wanted Snow to change the rules. 

“Well, congrats on the bun in the oven.”  Johanna smirked as her head rolled on her shoulders to stare at Stephanie.

“Go to hell,” Stephanie snapped back.  The other tributes were either staring at her in her chair or Haymitch on stage with varying amounts of shock, disbelief or outrage on their faces.  When Haymitch looked over at her, Stephanie amended her plan; she was going to kill Haymitch first, and then Johanna.  She flipped him off and he winked at her.

Haymitch rejoined the other victors in line and they all returned to the stage.  While the crowd was in an uproar, Haymitch snatched her hand and inclined his head toward Chaff.  Stephanie took his stump and Chaff’s hand locked with Seeder’s.  Slowly, each and every tribute was interlocking hands, and they raised them together. 

Then the lights were turned off on them.

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.

Stephanie received several more well-wishes and was sure that her clients would have climbing over themselves to have her if the Games didn’t start the next morning.  And they _were_ starting, with zero changes to the original plan.  They were all sent back at the Training Center after the huge fiasco the interviews had turned into, and the District 12’s victors found their way back to the apartment living room.  Katniss was practically vibrating and Peeta was shooting both Stephanie and Haymitch intrigued glances that bordered on rude.  No one said anything until a representative came to say that the Games were still on.

“So you made up that convoluted story for nothing then?” Stephanie asked Haymitch.  Katniss and Peeta exchanged wary glances.

“It was worth a shot,” Haymitch snapped back.  Then he shrugged.  “It’ll make the sponsors more sympathetic to your case and you’ll live easier.”  He was entirely too nonchalant about the entire thing, which Stephanie would blame for losing her temper and snapping later on.

“You dick.”  She jumped up from her place on the couch and dived at old drunk, pushing her forearm into his windpipe.  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were pulling this?  Now I have to pretend that I’m pregnant with your baby and that we have sexual chemistry?”

“Stephanie . . .” Peeta tried to placate her, but Katniss grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“I think Haymitch deserves it,” She muttered to him and Peeta glared.  “He sprung it on her without her approval.”  She was staunch in her condemnation. 

“But I think she’s going to kill him,” Peeta protested, but Katniss only snorted and rolled her eyes.

“She’s not going to kill him.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, sweetheart,” Haymitch choked as the pressure on his neck became greater.  He raised his hands in surrender.  “Come on, Steph.  You know it was a good idea.”  Her green eyes turned dark and Haymitch quickly amended, “But I should have said something first.  Are we done here?”

Peeta shook off Katniss’ arm and pulled Stephanie off of Haymitch.  The elder victor rubbed his sore neck and watched her tear away from Peeta’s hold and stalk away to her bedroom.  He was left with the lovebirds and their disapproving glares.  “What?”

Katniss nearly hissed at him as she went after the older girl, and left Peeta with Haymitch.  The men exchanged glances.  “I’d stay out of their way,” Peeta warned and Haymitch muttered obscenities under his breath.

“I need a drink.”

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.

She doesn’t talk to him again until they reach the arena and he’s made an alliance with Finnick Odair and Mags.  Before that, though, she is stranded on her dais for three seconds until the reality of her situation sets in and she dives into the water, her body in a sleek arch.  She is lucky that her bathtub is literally the size of a small swimming pool and that there are aquatic centers in the Capitol that her clients favor.  She reaches the cornucopia with a splash, and drags herself out of the water.  Stephanie staggers for a minute until she regains her balance and the strides into the mountain of weapons – but that’s all is it, a mountain of weapons; there are no food items or bags or any of the supplies that saved Stephanie’s life in her last Games.

She wastes no more time though, after she hears the other tributes arriving.  She picks up a large hunting knife and a dagger, hooking both into her belt and snags a spear as a javelin flies over her shoulder.  Stephanie swings around to see Glass bare his teeth.  “Got an alliance yet?”

“Yes,” Stephanie says and then throws her dagger into Gloss’ throat.  He goes down like a sack of bricks, and she bends to retrieve her weapon of choice.  Stephanie swings back around to find the male morphling bearing down on her with a spear.  She takes her knife and swings it toward his neck in very poor form, but the morphling is high and barely self-aware; the knife sticks its landing and lodges into the morphling’s neck.  Stephanie uses all of her strength and feels a certain amount of disconnection with her body as she digs the knife in further, severing tissue and sending blood squirting all over her and the stone the cornucopia lay on.  She rips out the knife and the morphling’s head hangs before his body tumbles into the water.  Something catches her eye in the back of the cornucopia; a silver bow and a carrier of arrows.

“Stephanie!”  Her head jerks up to see Finnick waving toward her.  He’s on the beach with Mags on his left and Haymitch on his right.  She takes wipes the knife on her pants leg and then holsters the weapon back in her belt before snatching the bow and arrows.  Then she joins the small group.

Stephanie squints at Haymitch on the beach.  The first thing she says, is, “Are you hungover?”

He grunts and squints.  “Maybe?”  Finnick has to jump to the side to avoid being slapped across the face along with her district partner.  His face is pink where she hit him and her palm stings.  Mags is hiding a grin behind wrinkly hands and Finnick is snickering.

“Let’s find some shelter, sweetheart,” Haymitch said dryly.  “Then we’ll finish our relationship issues.”  She makes a show of fingering her dagger until Haymitch backs off.  (She doesn’t think about how she’s murdered five people within six years.)

(No one says anything about the bow and arrows).

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She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do.  Last time in the Games, her goal was to find Damon and keep him alive (blood spurting and sharp knives; she failed).  Then it was to protect Caroline (teeth and claws and course fur; she failed then, too).  Her end goal was to annihilate Katherine (the only thing she actually managed).  This time, she is supposed to pretend she’s pregnant with Haymitch’s baby and survive as long as she can.  (She’s not sure if she wants to make it out of these Games alive but Haymitch and allies – friends – don’t give her much of a choice).

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When the anthem is being played and the canons shot off, Haymitch lies down next to her in the middle and she thinks it’s part of his show, but she still curls into his warmth because he’s still her friend, her family.  The pictures of the fallen tributes are playing and Stephanie’s attention is drawn to the sky to see who is left.  Gloss is dead and District 5 lost its male, along with District 6’s; Woof is gone, and Seeder and Cecelia too.  District 10’s female is dead and so is Nine’s.  Then the anthem stops.  Fifteen left.

Haymitch whispers into her ear about rebellions and girls on fire and District 13.

“You changed the plan when you volunteered.”  Haymitch’s breath doesn’t smell like alcohol anymore (just death).  “We just need you to play the Girl of Fire for us, just until we get out of the arena.  Then Katniss will take the helm again, and all of the tributes we get out will have a hand at it too.  It’s a revolution, sweetheart, and we’re its heart.”

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They’re all dehydrated from their trek through the forest, but they can’t trust the water they find in case it’s poisoned, and hunger is just starting to gnaw on their insides.  Finnick and Stephanie take turns carrying Mags on their backs when the elderly woman gets too tired to walk on her own, and Haymitch takes the lead with a critical eye somewhere to his left.  Mags is shuffling along close to Finnick at the moment, stooping down periodically to collect nuts from the ground to eat.

“I really wish we had a spile!” Haymitch calls pointedly to the air sometime during their second day in the arena.  Moments later, bizarre lightning strikes a large tree that they can barely see over the tops of the forest; once, twice, and it doesn’t stop until it hits twelve. 

“I don’t think the universe wants you to have it,” Finnick drawls teasingly and Haymitch flips him off.  “What does it even do?”

“Drains the sap from trees,” Haymitch explains and then sends Stephanie a significant look.  “It might help with our water problem.”  She remembers she’s supposed to be pregnant (not that she’s really forgotten; she’s actually spent some time thinking about what it would actually be like to be a mother and to have a little life so dependent upon her and only her).  Her left hand crawls to hover over her lean stomach accordingly, her mind already in line with Haymitch’s train of thought, and then she strokes her fingertips over it, like she’s seen expectant mothers do in Twelve.

Haymitch winks.

(They get their spile and drink water from the trees until they feel like bursting).

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Stephanie is dreaming about her first Hunger Games

She is dreaming about Ben McKittrick and daggers and Tyler Lockwood (big, vicious, wannabe Career) and Katherine Pierce (conniving _bitch_ , but also such a good – if inadvertent – teacher).  She is twelve again, and holding hands with Caroline as they run across the icy terrain (so different from the Quarter Quell), slipping and sliding the whole way. 

“We’re not going to make it!” Caroline cries and big hot tears are rolling down her pretty pale face.  Stephanie doesn’t know what they’re running from ( _the big bad wolf_ ) but Caroline is positive that they’re going to die.

“We are,” Stephanie promises and holds Caroline’s hand just that much tighter.  She can see the forest on the other side of the frozen lake and there is a figure standing there and waving to them.  “Damon will help us,” Stephanie says and knows this to be true.  Damon will protect them, and if he needs help, Stephanie will protect _him_.  They run to the ice and launch themselves across it, gliding effortlessly over it.  Behind them, the mutant wolves have paused at the frozen water, but Stephanie can hear their claws clicking on the surface as they try it out.  They are running out of time.

“I’m going to die,” Caroline says as they reach the opposite bank and run towards Damon’s waiting arms.  “You’re going to leave me all alone to rot.”

Stephanie’s brows furrow, but she does not slow down and grip does not let up.  “No, I’m not.”

“You are!” Caroline wails and she throws Stephanie’s hand down.  “You’re going to leave me and win and be special!  You’re going to get to see Elena again and I’m not!”

“We don’t have time for this!”  Damon is just over there, waiting.  Stephanie itches to put her arms around his waist.  “Come on, Care.”

“You’re going to be a _victor_!” Caroline screams and she collapses in the snow and begins sobbing.

“I’m going to be a _whore_!” Stephanie snaps and wonders where that came from.  “Now, come on.”  She grabs Caroline’s wrist, but they were too slow and now the wolves are surrounding them and snatching the little blonde girl away again.  “You can’t have her!”  Two of the wolves look like the Mikaelson siblings and the other two look like Lexi Branson and Jeremy Gilbert.  Their teeth are like five inch thick needles.

They eat Caroline up in front of her ( _tearing flesh and blood and snapping bones_ ) and then Damon’s hands on are her shoulders and Katherine is striding toward them.  “We’ll be okay,” Damon is whispering, but Stephanie isn’t twelve anymore and now she’s eighteen and her abdomen is ballooning out and Katherine is coming at her with a broken jaw that hangs and lips that are twisted in a deformed smile.

“Run, Stephanie,” Damon’s lifeless lips whisper.

“Damon?” Stephanie scurries forward and when she blinks, Damon is replaced with Haymitch.

“Where’s Damon?” Stephanie asks as she clutches her distended stomach.  “Where did he go?”  The ice is melting around her and giant trees are sprouting up and pushing her away from her district partners. 

“Run, Stephanie!” Haymitch yells and she surges awake in a rainforest with a choked off gasp, leaving the icy terrain behind her.  Haymitch is dragging her by the arm and Finnick has Mags thrown over his shoulder; they are all sprinting for their lives in the forest.  “The fog is poison,” He grounds out.  Stephanie is torn from her dazed dream and she follows Haymitch on autopilot.  She instinctively checks to make sure she has her weapons – the dagger, knife and bow – and is minutely relieved when she finds them.  The hand on her wrist is swollen with sores and leaking puss, presumably from the fog.  They run through the rainforest, tripping over foliage and each other, careening left and right to avoid the vicious fog.  Then they trip over the foliage and and fall down down down into a ravine.

Stephanie hears a dull crack followed by a canon.  And then Finnick’s frantic voice.  “Mags?  Mags!”  She scrambles to his side through the muggy air slips and slides on leaves and dirt and her hands are slick on Mags’ skin as she checks her pulse.

“She’s dead,” She says.  She can feel the bone protruding from the elderly woman’s neck and the torn flesh is hanging off in tatters; Mags had broken her neck on the way down.  “She’s dead.”

“She can’t be dead,” Finnick moans and it sounds guttural and broken.

“We need to move.”  Haymitch sounds choked and the fog is rolling in, surrounding them.  “Now!” He shouts when neither Finnick or Stephanie move.  He charges toward them and shoves them both to their feet.  “We’ll mourn later!”

They stumble through the fog together, holding each other up and staggering, but they are enclosed in a seemingly never ending cycle of fog that clogs up their sinuses and makes painful growths sprout onto their skin.  Then Stephanie slips off into unconsciousness and returns to the blissful cold of her dreams.

.

.

.

She wakes up with Haymitch’s hands on her shoulders, rubbing circles into her abused flesh and his voice in her ear whispering soothing nothings and half hummed words.  Steph blinks her eyes dazedly and finds Finnick swimming slowly in a shallow creak and then notices that her head is pillowed on Haymitch’s thigh.

“How’s the baby?”  They’re playing for the cameras, then.  Stephanie’s hands gravitate to her stomach and she holds them there and pretends to soothe a bundle of cells inside by rubbing just beneath her naval.  “I’m sore,” She says truthfully, but in accordance with the aches of the poison being flushed out of her system rather than any pregnancy related pain.

“I hope it’s not serious,” Haymitch says gruffly.  “But the fog’s effects . . .” He was pretending to be worried about a miscarriage?  It was a little early in the Games to be letting his ploy go.

“I’m sure everything’s fine.” 

“Are you okay?” Haymitch asks under his breath and she detects real concern in his tone. 

“Are you?” She counters and his lips twitch. 

“Fine.”  He nods and Stephanie sits up and slides through the foliage to soak in the water with Finnick.  He splashes her halfheartedly, but his eyes are dull.  Mags.  Mags is gone.

“I’ll get some tree water,” Haymitch calls and disappears back into forest.  His ambling footsteps echo around the forest for a while, and branches and leaves crack loudly.  It’s probably intentional.

“I’m sorry about Mags,” Stephanie says in the quiet that follows.

“Me too,” Finnick sighs and sinks lower into the water.  “She’ll . . . she’ll be missed.”  Stephanie wades to his side and mindful of their wet bodies, gives him a comforting, friendly hug.  He squeezes back like he’s hanging onto a lifeline.

“We have a problem.”  They looked up to see Haymitch returned and without any water.  “A large, multi-headed problem that is heading this way with sharp teeth and claws.”

“Mutts?” Finnick asks immediately and he and Stephanie release each other.  Her hands snake down to her belt and she finds her weapons.  She breathes a little in relief.

“Oh yeah.”  Haymitch grimaces.  “Some kind of mon-”

“Monkeys?” Stephanie asks as the mutts descend from the trees.  “Yeah, got that.”  They weren’t the prettiest creatures she’s seen and they had large canines.  Their hackles were raised and their hairy fingers were curled. 

“I suggest we run,” Haymitch offers lightly, but the lines around his eyes become more pronounced as he presses his lips together and his brows furrow.  “Now, preferably.”

So they do.

.

.

.

Katniss and Peeta spend their time in the Capitol occupied with sponsors upon sponsors that call for Stephanie and sometimes Haymitch too.  When they aren’t busy fielding calls, they’re glued to the screens, waiting with baited breath to see who lives and who dies.  (Neither is sure who they want to win.  They just want them all to come home).

Neither can look away when the orange monkey mutts charge.

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.

.

When they get to the beach again, they’re covered in blood and scratches and the morphling girl from Six is dead, having tried to defend Stephanie from an attack.  _(She wants people to stop dying for her already.)_   Then they see Johanna and two others running form another part of the rain forest, covered in a thick, dark substance from head to toe.

“Johanna!” Finnick shouts and takes off.

Haymitch squints.  “Looks like Beetee and Wiress too.  They’ll be useful.  But I wonder where Blight is.”

“Are they a part of . . .” Stephanie trails off.  The Capitol will think she’s asking if they’re included in their alliance.  Haymitch will know she’s talking about the rebellion.

“Yes.”  Haymitch nods and claps a hand to her shoulder.  “Let’s say hello.”  They walk together over to the small group and catch the hind end of Johanna’s story with the blood rain and Blight’s death via force field.

“Is that what you were watching back in the forest?” Stephanie whispers beneath her breath.  “The force field?”

Haymitch side-eyes her.  “Yeah.  You’re a regular genius, aren’t you?”  She rolls her eyes and goes to help Wiress in the water.  The older woman is standing forlornly at the edge of the tide, watching the waves roll in and out.  Stephanie approaches cautiously.

“Wiress?”  She asks softly.

“She’s Nuts!” Johanna corrects from afar.  Stephanie ignores her. 

“Wiress?  Hey, can I help you clean up?”  Wiress turns to look at Stephanie and smiles.  Her face is a little wrinkled from age and stress, but her eyes hold a certain innocence in them that makes Stephanie want to protect her. 

“Tick tock.  Tick tock.  Tick tock,” Wiress chants.

“Hickory Dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock,” Stephanie murmurs and takes the older woman by the hand.  Wiress nods enthusiastically and continues to chant ‘tick tock’ aloud to herself and Steph.  “The clock struck one, the mouse ran down.  Hickory dickory dock.”

“Tick tock.  Tick tock.  Tick tock,” Wiress continues insistently and only pauses when Steph continues to sing the nursery rhyme aloud.  She helps her bathe, but on the shore, Finnick and Haymitch dress a wound of Beetee’s, and Stephanie and Wiress hear his choked back moans.  Wiress’ chants pick of speed and volume, so Stephanie continues to sing to her.

“Hickory dickory dock, two mice ran up the clock; the clock struck two, the mouse ran down, hickory dickory dock,” Stephanie whispers.

Wiress picks up the next line as Steph rinses her hair.  “Hickory dickory dock, three mice ran up the clock; the clock struck three, the mouse ran down, hickory dickory dock.  There, you’re clean, Wiress.”  It was a small lie; the other tribute was as clean as one could get in an arena with salt water as a bathing tool, but semantics.  “Let’s get you out,” Stephanie murmurs and grabs Wiress’ hand again.

Wiress continues to sing.  “Hickory dickory dock, four mice ran up the clock; the clock struck four, the mouse ran down, hickory dickory dock.”

“Would you shut her up?” Johanna groans and Stephanie turns her head to see the other girl lying on the sand with an arm flung over her eyes.  “She’s been singing ‘tick tock’ for _ever_.”

“She’s scared and disoriented,” Stephanie dismisses and settles Wiress into the sand next to her.

“She’s in shock,” Beetee adds and wipes at his glasses.  “Ah, hello Stephanie.  Thank you for helping with Wiress.  The blood rain was a bit much for her, and then with Blight’s sudden death . . .”

“It’s fine,” Stephanie says.  “Really.”  She turns back and rubs Wiress’ arms where goose bumps have risen.  “Are you okay, Wiress?  Do you feel better?”

“Clean,” She hums and then begins to murmur tick tock again beneath her breath.

“At least she’s quieter,” Johanna grumbles and relaxes into the sand.  She closes her eyes and sighs, while Haymitch and Beetee sit together and mumble to each other.  Finnick is weaving baskets.  Everything is calm and almost peaceful.

Until it isn’t.  Suddenly, Wiress perks up and nearly screams the next line of her song.  “Hickory dickory dock, five mice ran up the clock!  The clock struck five; the mouse ran down, hickory dickory dock!”

“Aw, hell!” Johanna shouts and rolls over to smack someone, but Stephanie pushes Wiress out of the way so that she gets the stinging slap of flesh on flesh on her cheek.  Then she hears someone screaming in the rain forest.

“Stephanie!”

She stills immediately and her entire body tenses.  Damon.  “Damon?” She calls and slowly stands.  The others around her pause. 

“ _Stephanie!”_ Damon is screaming and he’s in pain and he _needs_ her.

“Damon!”  She takes off at a run and hears feet behind her, and shouts for her to stop and think for a minute, but her entire mind is focused on one thing only: save Damon.  He’s screaming and she’s crying and then there are hands on her shoulders, shaking her.

“Finnick?”

“What’s going on?” He asks her, eyes wide.  Then another voice joins Damon’s, and Finnick jerks as though he’s been electrocuted.  “Annie?  _Annie_!”

“Finnick!”  Annie’s voice calls again.  “Finnick, help me!”

“I’m coming, Annie,” Finnick’s voice wavers and he darts off with Stephanie on his heels.  Caroline and Jeremy’s voices have joined Annie’s and Damon’s now, and they are all screaming for her to save them, to protect them.  Elena Gilbert calls for her, and so does her father, and even Haymitch.

She spies the birds seconds later.  “It’s the jabberjays!” She screams at Finnick.  “It’s not real!”

“They got the screams from somewhere!” Finnick snaps back and Stephanie thinks of her father and innocent little Elena Gilbert back in District 3.  (She and Finnick continue running.  They run and run and run until they hit a glass wall that Haymitch, Beetee and Johanna are on the other side of.  They say something, but it’s drowned out by Damon screaming in Stephanie’s ears.)

When the screaming stops, she thinks she’s dreaming.  (She’s not.)  Haymitch’s hand is on her back and Johanna is helping Finnick up off the ground, and Beetee and Wiress are hovering.

“Let’s get out of the forest,” Stephanie says breathlessly and everyone agrees immediately.

.

.

.

They make their way back out to the beach and the cornucopia to collect more weapons for Johanna and the others.  Finnick’s lost a few of his tridents and only has the one left.  (Stephanie has a close eye on her knife and dagger, clutching them whenever she feels threatened.)

“Tick tock,” Wiress says hours later.  “Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.  Oh dear, oh my, I really hate mice.”  Johanna sends her a vicious glare, but Haymitch’s eyes light up like he’s just had an epiphany.

“Well, hot damn . . .” He trails off as a huge tidal wave hits the shore.  “Tick tock . . . it’s a fucking clock.”

“Um?”  Johanna squints.  “What?”

“It’s a clock,” Haymitch repeats quickly, eyes round.  “The arena’s a fucking clock!”  He spins around in a circle and Wiress is quietly cheering and repeating ‘tick tock,’ with flailing arms.  “The lightning, the fog, the monkeys, the rain – that tidal wave!  Everything’s split up into increments,” Haymitch explains and points out the different sectors of the arena, the clock.  “When it hits a certain hour, the next disaster occurs.”

“You’ve know this entire time,” Stephanie says to Wiress with an arched brow.  Wiress grins.

Says, “Tick tock.”

“Tick tock.”  Stephanie clasps hands with her. 

.

.

.

They figure out the times of each event and which part of the arena that coordinate with.  Someone is killed by the tidal wave the next day, and then another tribute is mauled in a sector they haven’t been in yet, by some kind of snarling, ginormous mutt.  Stephanie takes care of Wiress and keeps an eye on everyone else to make sure they don’t wander off.  Finnick makes baskets and fishes, and Johanna sharpens her axes, and Beetee mutters to himself about electricity and the tree that’s hit by lightning every day at noon and midnight. 

Wiress is singing her off key rendition of the _Grandfather Clocks_ and Stephanie is brushing the older woman’s hair when the knife flies out of nowhere and buries itself between Wiress’ shoulder blades.  She chokes and a canon fires.  Stephanie jumps and their group whirls around to see Cashmere curling her lips over her pearly white teeth.

“That was for Gloss,” She says, voice gravelly and locks eyes with Steph.  “You’re next.”  Metal rings on metal and Stephanie doesn’t have to turn to see Brutus and Finnick fighting.  Enobaria is circling Johanna and Haymitch, growling and showing her pointed teeth.  Stephanie stands and Wiress’ body slides into the watery depths as she unsheathes her knives.

“Come and get me,” Stephanie challenges.  ( _She’s not afraid anymore and there’s a tiny part of her that almost enjoys the adrenaline of a fight, a part that gets excited to draw blood_ ).

Cashmere growls and dives at Stephanie the same time that the cornucopia begins to spin in rapid, dizzying circles.  The women grapple with their hands and weapons, clawing and punching, slipping and sliding on the wet rock.  They tumble down, down the cornucopia and Stephanie feels something pinch her abdomen just before they fall into the water.  Stephanie takes her dagger beneath the waves, and uses it to rip into Cashmere’s shoulder and twists, because she can’t reach her chest.  Cashmere keeps going, though, and they rise to the surface, wrestling.

The moment Cashmere’s head reaches the surface, an axe gets lodged into the base of her skull by a maniacally smiling Johanna.  She crows in victory and then sticks out a hand for Steph.  The younger girl doesn’t hesitate; she puts her hand in Johanna’s, and Stephanie gets pulled out of the water.  The first thing she notices is that the cornucopia has stopped spinning.

“Where’s everyone else?” Stephanie coughs up water and spits.  It comes out red.

“Haymitch and Beetee are back there.”  She waves and then steps over to Cashmere’s body.  Johanna pulls out the axe, which makes a squelching sound as it’s removed from the flesh and bone.  “Brutus and Enobaria ran off.”  She waves a dismissive hand again even though her lips are pressed together in frustration.

“Who else is left?” Stephanie puts a hand to her stomach and is surprised to feel it covered in a sticky, thick substance: blood.

Johanna shrugs and wipes her axe off the blood from Cashmere’s wound.  “Besides us, Brutus and Enobaria?  Chaff, I think, but that’s it.”

“We should find him,” Stephanie says.  Surely Chaff is involved in the rebellion, and he’s a friend to Haymitch.  They should make sure they get him out. 

Johanna looks up and eyes her critically.  “Sure,” She agrees and then looks down.  “But let’s get that checked out, first.”  Johanna offers her arm to help Stephanie walk back to the others.  When they reach them, they quickly find that Beetee has torn open his wound again and Finnick has cloth wrapped around his upper thigh.  Haymitch’s face and forearms are scratched up and his shoulder looks like someone took a bite out of it.

Stephanie looks back at the cornucopia and thinks about Wiress’ lifeless eyes, her last sharp inhale of breath.  “Tick tock,” She murmurs and winces.

“Sweetheart,” Haymitch calls affectionately, but his eyes narrow.  “Johanna,” he barks.  “Set her down over here.” 

“I’m not dead yet,” Stephanie snaps and shakes out of Johanna’s hold.  She strides over to the others’ sides, clutching the wound in her gut.  “It’s just a scratch.”

Haymitch was deadpan.  “You’re bleeding out.  Sit down.”

They hear a beeping overhead, and the entire group of tributes look up to see a large parachute falling down in the middle of their loose circle.  “The Calvary,” Johanna drawls and steps forward to open the thing.  She rummages for a bit, and pulls out some medication and bandages.  “There’s enough here for everyone who’s injured, so let’s get started fixing you all up.”

The sponsors have pulled through once more, but Stephanie’s not sure if she’s grateful or not.  She hasn’t given much thought to Haymitch’s rebellion, because it’s difficult to think of a world without the Hunger Games and a world without Snow’s torment and the Capitol’s inadvertent cruelty.  She’s not sure if the rebellion will work, if their new government they create after that will be functional.  But she supposes that they owed it to themselves and the other Districts to at least give it a try.

The only question left was, how many will die in the process of achieving this unknown end?

.

.

.

As they dawdle at the beach, just the five of them, a growing concern lingers in the back of Stephanie’s mind; how are they going to get out of the arena?  When has it been long enough to let them out?  Who is really controlling the rebellion and its pawns?  They have other pressing concerns as well; Brutus and Enobaria are still running around the arena, surely thinking of ways to get rid of the rest of them.  Fortunately, Beetee has them covered.

They’d agreed that Brutus and Enobaria would come to the beach as soon as they left and in order to take advantage of that, they needed to get some of Beetee’s wire around the lightening tree and back to the water so that it would electrocute anyone who set foot on the beach, after. 

Stephanie means to ask Haymitch about the rebellion’s plans after they get rid of the two Careers (but she doesn’t get the chance).

.

.

.

Everything goes to hell pretty quickly.  First, they hear a cannon fire, but they can’t be sure who it’s for.  Then Stephanie, Beetee and Finnick are attacked by Brutus and Enobaria while Haymitch and Johanna are in the process taking the wire down to the beach.  Brutus and Enobaria emerge from the trees and Stephanie drops the bow she’s been lugging around with her for the entire Games to make sure she has her hands on both her knife and dagger.

Brutus barrels toward Finnick with his spear raised but that’s all that Steph sees of their fight; the next thing she knows, she’s being thrown onto her back on the forest floor as Enobaria’s teeth tear into Stephanie’s neck.  The area is delicate, and feeling of the elder tribute’s teeth there tearing the flesh off of her body is horrific.  Stephanie struggles, but the wound in her stomach is still healing for Cashmere’s attack.  Enobaria notices and pressed the palm of her hand into the tender spot of her belly, making it feel like there’s a fire inside of Stephanie’s body.  She screams.  Enobaria brings her face up to look at Stephanie.  The former’s mouth is dribbling blood down the corners of her lips, and Enobaria slowly licks the thick red substances off of her jaw.

“Who’s the ripper now?” Enobaria hisses into her ear.

“Still me,” Stephanie chokes.  She brings up her knee and jabs it into Enobaria’s stomach, and then kicks her off.  Enobaria stumbles backwards, giving Steph the time to crawl to her knees and take out one of her daggers from her belt loop.  Her neck is on fire and her vision is fuzzy, but Stephanie forces herself to leap at Enobaria, dagger in hand.

Enobaria snarls and sends red spittle flying into Stephanie’s face before she charges again.  They meet midair the same time that Brutus takes his last dying breath and Finnick comes out victorious in his own fight.  The women grapple with each other and Stephanie feels Enobaria’s sharp teeth tear down her arm and bite down on her wrist.  Stephanie brings up her dagger and shoves it into Enobaria’s cheek, dislodging her grip on Stephanie.  Enobaria chokes out a gurgled scream before Stephanie puts both hands onto the dagger and yanks it sharply, tearing through flesh and separating Enobaria’s head from her shoulders.

Behind her, she can hear Johanna and Haymitch shouting something with Finnick about the bow and the wire, while Beetee is moaning lowly from being tossed around by Brutus. 

Stephanie takes no mind.  She is fuzzy and disconnected from her body and it is all finally just _too much_ for a teenager to handle.  She picks up the dagger and systematically chops up Enobaria’s body, separating the pieces.  She wants the Capitol know that she’s not coming back from this.  She wants Snow to know that she won’t be his sex toy to pimp out anymore.  She wants them all to know that she’s far too damaged for the Capitol to remake and manipulate anymore. 

She’s

Finally

Losing

Her

Mind

Someone’s hand is on her shoulder and Stephanie swings around as fast as she can, bringing up the dagger in defense, lips curling into a snarl.  Haymitch steps back, arms raised and Stephanie sees out of the corner of her eye that Beetee is whispering something to Finnick, who is wrapping the metal wire around an arrow.  The silver bow is just a foot away.

Haymitch is saying something but nothing is getting through.  It’s like he’s on mute and she can’t read his lips because he’s speaking a foreign language. 

Finnick takes the bow and fires the arrow.

Lightning strikes.

And everything finally just ends.

.

.

.

When she wakes up, it’s to the shrill beeping of a heart monitor telling her doctors that she’s flat lining.

.

.

.

The second time she wakes up, she’s in an unfamiliar hospital room drugged to the gills in a bed next to Finnick Odair.  Stephanie isn’t sure she’s dreaming until she sees Katniss Everdeen is sitting next to her and chatting about her wedding dress.  (Or maybe she’s hallucinating, she’s not sure).

.

.

.

The third time she’s joins the world of the conscious, Finnick is being sedated by a doctor and held down by several nurses, which in itself is unusual.  What was Finnick doing in District 12?  Katniss is gone and has been replaced by Haymitch.  He looks wrung out and five years older than he did the last time she’d seen him, and maybe fifteen pounds lighter.

“Morning, sweetheart,” He croaks.

“H’mitch?”  She slurs.

“Yeah, it’s me,” He says softly.  “And I’ve got something to tell you that you’re not gonna like.”

“M I dreamin’?”  She can’t get her mouth to work correctly but she’s too fuzzy to be frustrated.  She feels like she’s forgetting something.  “S’ no hospitals ‘n Twelve.”  Stephanie furrows her brows, confused.  “Whr’s Daddy?”

Haymitch swallows thickly.  “They’ve really got you on the good stuff, huh, sweet heart.  Listen, we’re not in Twelve anymore and we’re not going to go back.  We’re going to Thirteen.  Remember District 13?”

Stephanie waves a hand clumsily.  “Blown up, H’mitch.  Boom.”  She giggles a little.

“Nah, kid, remember our conversation about the rebellion?” Haymitch presses.  There’s a part of her that maybe remembers something to that effect, but her mind shuts down the thoughts before she can access them.  She shrugs.  “We’re overthrowing the Capitol.  Ringing any bells?”

Stephanie swings a hand into the air and shakes her head, but realizes very quickly that that’s a mistake.  She hums a little and her eyes dart up to the ceiling to count the tiles.

“Maybe you should come back,” A kindly nurse suggests as she checks Stephanie’s IV.

“Where’m I?”  Stephanie blinks rapidly.

“What’s the matter with her?”  She hears Haymitch ask with a barely controlled voice.

“For one, Miss Salvatore is on pain medication for several wounds.  For another, she’s suffering from a minor case of anterograde amnesia,” The nurse explains softly.  “It appears that a lot of things from before the Quarter Quell are missing from her memory.  It was understandably upsetting for her, and combined with the severe head trauma she took during the explosion, her mind is protecting itself.”

What explosion?

“When will she be back to normal?” Haymitch asks tightly.

The nurse shrugs a little helplessly.  “We’re not entirely sure right now, Mr. Abernathy.  We’ll keep you updated.  Now, visiting hours are over, so scoot.”

“Bye, H’mitch,” Stephanie calls after the other victor and waves her fingers.  She furrowed her brows when he wipes his eyes discreetly and then hurries out of the hospital room.  Her eyes slide closed moments later and the world is once more lost.

.

.

.

When Haymitch visits again, Stephanie remembers everything that happened in the arena, including her meltdown that she’s not sure she’s not still having. 

“What’s happening?” She asks.

“We’re in the District 13 compound,” Haymitch explains once he’s realized that she’s recovered some of her mental facilities. 

“Where are Katniss and Peeta?”

“Captured by the Capitol,” Haymitch says and clenches his fists.  “We’re trying to figure out a rescue plan to get them out, but everything is extremely risky right now.”

“Screw the risks,” Stephanie whispers as her green eyes lock onto Haymitch’s gaze.  “We have to save them.”

“I know.”  Haymitch’s nostrils flare.  He looks away.  “Snow blew up District 12 and raided Four.”

Stephanie blinks rapidly and her heart begins to race.  Her father.  Alaric.  Everyone in the Hob, Gale Hawthorne . . . “What?  _Why_?”

“We resisted and escaped,” Haymitch says derisively.  “Finnick shot the clumsy arrow that made the arena explode because he studied Katniss in her Games.  Everyone in Three is on lockdown because of Beetee.”

“What happened to everyone in Twelve?” Stephanie asks and her breathing picks up.

“Some of them got out,” Haymitch says quietly.  “But many . . . your father is dead.” Stephanie sits back and cries.  Nothing has ever felt so hopeless.  “When they raided Four, they took Annie,” Haymitch continues.  “13 didn’t get to Johanna in time in the arena; the Capitol got her too.

“But listen to me.”  Haymitch leans forward, his eyes intense.  “Stephanie, listen.  This rebellion is still happening.  We’re going to take down Snow and save as many people as possible in the process.  Do you understand?  You’re not done.  You’re our Ripper.  And that means you’ve got a job to do.”

The world is spinning and closing in.  She hears her heart monitor go berserk and her breathing is erratic.  “No,” Stephanie says.  She was just like that dummy at the Training Center.  Just like Enobaria. 

“I’m not a Ripper, Haymitch, I’m just the chopped up pieces left behind.” 

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.

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End of Part II


End file.
